From The Ashes
by HeatherRed
Summary: Trapped in Middle Earth, a woman is desperately trying to find a way to get back to her world. After healing a dwarf, she finds a link between his homeland and the key to get back home and joins them on his quest to reclaim his homeland. But more is at stake than it seems and secrets will test the boundaries of friendship. What is she willing to sacrifice for the Greater Good?


Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit nor do I own any of the characters in the Hobbit. I also do not own America or any other country. I will be using both the book and the movies in the story (again, I do not own these) and I will use some artistic license because some stories need a little embellishment (as Gandalf says).

There are a few OC characters and this story is **T-rated** for a reason. **This story has mentions of abuse, suicide, mental health issues (anxiety, depression and PTSD) and sexual assault. Please don't read it if this makes you uncomfortable. **

Reviews appreciated .

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><p><strong>From The Ashes<strong>

**Prologue: The Steadfast Rock**

"**No coward soul is mine/ no trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:/ I see Heaven's glories shine/and faith shines equal, arming me from fear"- Last Lines, Emily Bronte**

The Hall of Prayer was empty tonight apart from one Dwarf.

The torches were burning low, their light glinting off the smooth grey-green marble stone, catching and illuminating the intricately-carved gold inscriptions of runes and patterns and the jewels on the walls.

A giant lone statue of Mahal, the Smith, Stone Father and Creator of Dwarves, stood proudly at the end of the hall and the Dwarf walked towards it with bare feet, passing the marble pews where the Dwarves would listen to the Word of Mahal. To the Dwarf's left, there was a large room with special prayer mats for expecting parents or warriors so they could pray for protection. To his right, there was another room where Dwarves can confess to a priest of Mahal of any crime they have done, though it was extremely rare that their crime was extreme. Most of the time, it was petty crimes, such as stealing.

Of course, most Dwarves in Ered Luin have stolen something in their lifetime because it was only in the last 100 years that Durin's Folk managed to sustain a comfortable life in Ered Luin but most Dwarves were uncomfortable with taking something that was not theirs. It brought back memories of their home in Erebor being taken from them and the Dwarves preferred being able to look after themselves and saw stealing as a sign of desperation and a cry for help.

As the Dwarf made his way to the statue of his Creator, he paused briefly to wash his hands and feet before walking up the steps before the statue.

The statue was breathtaking. It depicted Mahal, holding a hammer in his left hand, an axe in his right and an anvil in front of him. The statue was made of axestone, a rare green stone that symbolised Mahal's marriage to the Earth Mother, Yavanna.

The Dwarves of Ered Luin did not worship the Earth Mother, a fact that disturbed the refugees of Erebor. As the wife of their Creator, She was considered holy and the Dwarrowdams of Erebor would pray to Her for when they were expecting a baby. Here in Ered Luin, there was no statue so they would create a shrine in their houses whilst expecting and it would remain there until the child came of age. The Dwarf called out:

"Abbad!" _I am here!_

The Dwarf knelt before the statue. His clothing was simple, a blue tunic with silver embroidery and dark trousers. His beard was short and boxed; his hair was wavy and brown, though a few silver streaks ran through it. He was not old, by Dwarven standards, only middle-aged. The silver streaks were caused by trauma and this Dwarf had seen much of it.

His name was Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, his Grandfather who had been the last King Under The Mountain. But Erebor, Thorin's beloved childhood home, was lost to a dragon, Smaug. And now Thorin was King of Durin's Folk with his Grandfather dead and his Father presumed dead. Thrain had not been seen in many years and though there have been reported sightings, Thorin had gone looking for him and found nothing.

Hands clasped together in his lap, Thorin prayed, a simple but passionate prayer, for the time had come to reclaim his homeland and slay the Great Wyrm.

"Oh Mahal, Father of Stone, may You smile down upon me. I seek to reclaim my homeland, Erebor, from the dragon. You led my people to the Lonely Mountain and I ask that You help me lead my people back. Please give me the strength to lead my comrades and brothers-in-arms to victory and my people to salvation. Please give me wisdom to make the right decisions and lead my people on a good path to see that this quest ends well. Please give me hope that I will be successful and that I will reclaim the treasure of my people, their creations."

It should be noted that creation is a very sacred rite for Dwarves for not only did their Father create them in an attempt to mimic His own Creator, but for their entire purpose for being was so their Father had someone who He could teach to create and build. Of course, most races assume Dwarves were greedy because of their hoarding of their treasures but, although Dwarves do collect treasure, it is usually not done out of greed but in admiration of the creation of objects. Most Dwarves are quite willing to share or trade with their treasure (being the reasonable folk that they are). Only a few Dwarves, like Thorin's grandfather, who hoard massive amounts of treasure without sharing or trading that, are considered greedy. The Line of Durin had a strange illness that ran through their family, the Dragon Sickness, which made them greedy, and craving gold and jewel. During this, it was impossible to reason with them, for their mind made them believe them superior to all, like dragons.

"Please give my nephews, my company and I protection so we can see this done, so we can return to the home that You gave us. Please give my nephews and I protection from the Dragon Sickness, so if we succeed, we will not fail our people. Please grant us happy fortune so our path can be full of joy, success and luck."

At the end of his requests, he pulled out from his tunic pocket a small silver statue, no bigger than his pinkie, of Mahal holding his hammer. There were small diamonds and sapphires on the hammer and sapphires where Mahal's eyes were. The detail was exquisite, the jewels cut beautifully. But because it was not gold, it was considered a meagre offering. Only offerings made out of metal could be made to Mahal, the Father of Stone, for He ruled over jewels and metals. Offerings were only made by those going into danger, such as war, for it may be their last creation and if they did not come back, the offering was given back to the family as it was said to have Mahal's blessings upon it and would bring the family good fortune. If there was no family, then it would remain in the Halls of Prayer as a testament to the Dwarf's bravery.

"Father, I understand that this is not much, in comparison to what You can make, but I have no gold here in the Blue Mountains, nor will my skill at silver-smithing ever equal to Yours, so I am afraid that this is all I can offer You. Oh Mahal, please accept my offering."

He placed the small silver statue at the foot of the axestone statue. Tomorrow the priest would find it and take it away to another room, where offerings were kept.

"Until my death will I create and until my death will I serve my people. Until death will I protect my home and until death will I serve my Father." He closed his eyes as he bowed his head one more time to end his prayer.

"Ukarat." _Greatest Glory._

A slight breeze filled the Hall of Prayer and Thorin's hair blew slightly back as the breeze gently caressed his face. Thorin was filled with the sensation of peace and something warm grew in his chest. Before he opened his eyes, he was pierced with the vision of gentle brown eyes looking into his own.

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><p>In another world, a red car stuttered to a stop on a dusty road.<p> 


End file.
